


14 February

by Schattenspieler



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Black Humor, Valentinsday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenspieler/pseuds/Schattenspieler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets an unexpected gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	14 February

**Author's Note:**

> The story is also available in german language.

14 February

The day hadn't been an ordinary one – but their argument had been.  
At least this was what Sherlock had thought.

~*~

Grey daylight dropped in through the window glass, struggled its way through the room in which stood a bony man. Deep in thought – or so it seemed – he looked outside. Maybe he was looking at the dust that danced glistening in front of the window.  
It's the small things that make the day brighter.

His eyes neither focused on the green wallpaper nor on the black wood, but on the box in front of the door to his room. It wasn't neither small nor big. But it was dark and glittery, of artless elegance. A small greetingcard held by a brown loop was placed on its top. It excited him. The box layed untouched in front of his door.

He hadn't seen John since yesterday, since same man had stormed off 211b Baker Street.  
He had looked after him from above the window, seeing him running down the street that led to Sarah.  
He hadn't come back at night nor in the morning after.  
But there was this box on the scale of a man's spread hand. Machine-made, precious paper, no logo on it, no special pattern – except for two satin gold stripes; the right bottom line looked slightly crushed, but only a little deformed – might have happend during transport.

He approached it, his face a motionless mask, and looked down on the box from above.  
There was a heavy hammering – but it didn't come from the door.  
He knelt down to grab the box off the ground. It felt comfortable in his hands. Its balance point was diffuse though.  
The hammering grew heavier.  
Black leather groaned under his weight when he let himself slide into the armchair, letting the box rest on his bony knees.  
He lifted the cover, the small greetingcard dangled on the loose loop on the edge of the box. Narrow pale fingers pushed aside the tissue paper.  
Black displaced stormy grey as his eyes widened in disbelief.  
With a thud sound the cover fell to the red carpet.  
The greetingcard danced to the ground.

~*~

A soft gaze caressed the figure beneath the white sheet. Low steps were echoing in the hall and approaching carefully.  
Lips surrounded by a little smile and then – fingers running dreamfully through short blond hair.  
Not a move came from the down lain man.  
The pale skin felt like silk beneath his hands when he pushed aside the drapery. Careful but confident his fingers traced the scar.

„That was a wonderful present – it couldn't have been any better." The voice faded unheard.

~*~

He swallowed and looked at the card one more time. His fingers ran through his black curls and then over his face.  
Slightly curved letters and a signature – nothing more.  
He became dizzy and a shiver ran down his spine, consumed all of him like a sound's vibration. As if he were a twiched string of his violin.

Hot and cold it ran through his body. Again his fingers caressed the box.  
Cold and smooth.  
They trembled slightly. He swallowed.  
„What am I doing?", he asked into the quiet room.  
The wooden floor sqeezed under his unsteady steps.

„Lestrade ... I have to talk to him. At once!"

~*~

The blue eyes didn't open. Not even as the hand stopped running through the golden hair. He didn't bother neither words nor steps. Nothing at all would ever bother him again, thought the man with a smile and put the sheet completely off the silent man's breast.  
Something brute flared up in the brown eyes.  
He leaned down to the ear, blond hair tickled his nose and he scented the dulcet aftershave.  
„Oh John – you would have wanted him to get it, wouldn't you? Let me tell you a secret, John."  
He seemed to take a mischievous pleasure in this.  
„He had longed for it for such a long time! Nothing else had he desired that much! Only the two of us – you and me – were able to give it to him."

Giggling Moriarty took a few steps back and gave John one last caring look. Then he left the cold and sterile room with the metal divan bed John was lying on beneath a sheet.

~*~

Sherlock collapsed as he read the DNA-report.  
The world around him stayed silent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
I give you a heart.  
Not my own, but one  
you already owned for long.  
Happy Valentine's Day! ~  
Love, Jim~♥  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The heart layed untouched, again enclosed in formalin, in the glass case, just as big as a man's spread hand.


End file.
